


Lullabies

by lemurious



Series: Only A Fairy Tale [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Children, Ficlet, Gen, Maglor (Tolkien) Through History, Modern Era, Nursery Rhymes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:42:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29994066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious/pseuds/lemurious
Summary: ...there were places where the old world lingered.A ficlet inspired by history that can lie hidden in nursery rhymes.
Series: Only A Fairy Tale [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2209269
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	Lullabies

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine Maglor walking these shores, and caring for the children he still can save, in atonement for those he thinks he could not.

First they became a memory, then a myth, and after a hundred years no bard could remember the songs of wars fought so long ago that a forest now grew like a wall from the fertile soil, drenched in blood and ashes.

But there were places where the old world lingered.

To the children, the magic that adults seemed to be capable of every day of their lives seamlessly blended into the magic that these same adults had long learned to let their eyes glance over.

They whispered to the trees, and waited for an answer. They traced the contours of a ship in the clouds, the morning star at its bow.

They sang. Clapping rhymes, counting rhymes. 

_Seven ships and seven stars and seven sons, they have sailed and they have slain and they wait in the halls, all seven sons but one._

_Fourteen set off, for fire and gold, one’s tale will never end, three will never grow old._

Some of the children were shunned at the playgrounds, and not only because they seemed to know just where to look to make the horizon glimmer and fade. As orphans, they were at the bottom of the social ladder. Found at the crossroads, brought to the doorsteps, and hospitals, and churches. And yet, it was their songs that rang out of every mouth.

_Hush, little baby, don’t you cry, your mother will take you on her wings to the sky, one father awaits her to sail though the night, the second will teach you to win every fight, the third will sing your nightmares away, no more jewels to claim, nor oaths to betray…_

The orphans never sang that last one at the playgrounds, though they may have whispered it to their own children. A lullaby, their oldest memory, thin and frayed, of being carried and cared for, before they were found by their new homes. And the yearning in their hearts that would only be quenched when they heard about another inexplicable appearance of a small child, and no sign of parents. Just as if fairies had brought them here, some would say, shaking their heads in surprise.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing, with hopes to get myself back into writing mode :)


End file.
